


Johnny's Guilt

by Fantasticly_Anonymous



Series: Lucha Underground: Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo's World Famous Friendship [2]
Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: A Little Español | Spanish, American Sign Language, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cage is a Butt, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ouch, Poor Johnny!, Poor Puma!, Pre-Slash If You Squint, Slight mystery, Some Humor, Stitches, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasticly_Anonymous/pseuds/Fantasticly_Anonymous
Summary: Prince Puma's first official match against Cage The Machine doesn't end on quite as victorious a note as many had hoped.Especially considering he won the darn thing! Technically.Johnny's caught up in a bit of jeopardy, with far more than just his getting to work on time hanging in the balance.Will the two of them survive the night? Will their friendship? These and more questions, posed inside!





	Johnny's Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Set just a week or two after Johnny's Gilt, piece number one in this little series, which you are completely welcome to read before this one if you haven't seen or heard of it yet. I believe this one will make more sense if it's done that way. : D
> 
> Prepare yourselves. This poor fic doesn't feel quite as fluffy to me as the first one did. In fact; it feels kinda angsty.  
> Lemme know, if you're of a mind, after you've come to a decision! I'm not always the best judge of whether something should count as fluffy. : D
> 
> Oh, and please keep an eye out for three-line breaks! They are meant to signify time skips, P.O.V. changes, and sometimes both. It was the best I could come up with for the job and I hope it won't be too difficult to tell which is which and what is what. 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy the ride!

Puma knew he had no right to wonder this, but he couldn't help the thought screaming across his mind like an illegally purchased bottle rocket on a Los Angeles 4th of July, "Where is Johnny?"

He knew he should be 100% in the moment, but he'd already taken enough shots to make the best Luchador see stars. If that was the case though, why couldn't he see Johnny Mundo?

He _knew_ this wasn't the kind of thing any self respecting fighter should think while still in the ring; while they could still lift their arms -even if they felt like lead weights were holding them down-, but..., "Where _is_ Johnny ?

Cage's attention seemed to be pulled away from him, which let his vision clear for a moment. What were the announcers yelling about? Aside from the match still going after the bell had been rung?  
Konnan? His trainer was in the ring! Where'd his cane gone? No! Konnan was down too.

Though Puma's hearing was shorting in and out, he _heard_ the tearing of the Championship Belt and it defied everything he knew about honor in the ring. Cage couldn't have it, so he was making sure no one else could.  
Cage was throwing a tantrum, and thankfully, it seemed as if he was just about tantrummed out. Yep, Puma could feel the ring leaning and then bouncing back to level as Cage made his belated exit.  
At least he didn't need to worry about covering himself anymore; Cage's blows could snap an arm if you weren't braced for them, and he'd taken a few too many shots to do so effectively.

Puma couldn't get his legs under himself to stand, the medics were already checking Konnan over, so he padded across the ring, on all fours, to one of the only other things that had ever been brought to him by fortune.  
And that beautiful belt, graven with the symbols of his heritage, needed two hands to hold for a completely different reason than reverence or weight: Puma's Underground Championship Belt... couldn't be put together again.

_"Where **was** Johnny?"_

 

Little could anyone in that temple know that, at that same moment, pretty much that same thought was doing donuts in the proverbial parking lot of Johnny Mundo's mind. For the last few hours, in fact. Though, not phrased in the third person. He might've been a ham on stage, but he wasn't all that stuck on himself off it.

"Darn, stupid, armor plated- who designed this piece of trash?!" He said, out loud, while attempting to smash a sneaker clad foot through a bullet proof window for perhaps the twenty-fifth time in... How long had it been?  
Felt like about the time Puma's match was scheduled to start, but it was hard to tell the hour when you were stuck in the back of an off duty armored truck.

They must have been watching him for days to know his routine as well as it seemed they did. To catch him off guard the way they did.

One of Johnny's favorite ways to get to work was by way of the... bohemian skyline. Long before dusk stuck its roots deep into the bluey gray of Boyle Height's sky, he'd leave his apartment and start off slow. Warming up was always the safe bet. Didn't wanna pull anything on the _way_ to work, after all.  
He left through the front door, because as fun as leaving through the third story window was, leaving it unlocked everyday was a great way to have your place burgled.  
He'd jog the first half mile, or until his muscles told him they were warmed up and raring to bring on the tough stuff, then he'd start hopping over, around, through, and under walls, trees, cars, and all kinds of things you wouldn't figure people should be _allowed_ to. Let alone **able** to!

This day though, someone had been waiting for him. Right out of sight, in the relative shade of a breezeway between buildings, less than a quarter mile from his place of rest. Maybe it was more than one somebodies, it was hard to tell in all the commotion. Regardless, they managed to get the drop on him.  
As he passed up the little alley, a pair of arms whipped out, stuffed a sack over his head, kicked his knees out from under him and, using Luchador like strength, stuffed him in the back of what felt like a metal box. A big one.

He'd yanked the sack off his head too late to see who it'd been, but he saw the back door shut and heard the sickening sound of multiple locking modalities clunking into place before he could drag himself up and bust it back open.

They definitely hadn't stuck him in the back of an ambulance, he realized, after he'd tired his shoulder out on the back door. The whole thing was windowless except for one observation window which was probably too small for him to fit through and definitely built to remain unbroken, which showed him just enough of the front cab to drive him mad. Freedom was just on the other side of this single pane of glass, yet unreachable for the toughness of it.

Johnny spent an hour or so feeling around in the gloom of his prison, searching for anything which might help him outta there. All to no avail. Although, he _did_ manage to get himself a couple'a nice scratches on the corners of some sharp shelving units.  
At least they hadn't gotten him in the face. Or the back of the head. Yowza.

By the end of hour two, he'd stopped rechecking his pockets for his cellphone, finally resigned to the reality that whoever'd thrown him in here and swallowed the key must've lifted it off him at the same time. Just how premeditated _was_ this setup?!  
He'd also decided that, since he couldn't fit through that stupid little window anyway, he'd definitely stop trying to break its ugly face in. Yep.  
That decision had been doubled back on pretty soon. Seeing as it was one of the only low-ish risk ways to take out his frustrations in that metal deathtrap.  
He was glad that the vehicle seemed to be parked in that same alley, otherwise he'd probably be getting an all expenses paid sauna experience. Until the sun was well down. He wasn't a big fan of metal deathtrap hotbox experiences.  
Not that he'd been treated to one before, but a person generally has an intuition about what they will or won't like. Judging on how likely it was to cause pain, injury, or death, at least. Most creatures didn't like the prospect of death.  
Johnny Mundo was no exception. Unlike some creatures though, he also had somewhere he desperately wanted- _needed_ to be, and not only for his own safety, but for the sake of a... friend.

He'd been keeping himself busy, trying not to think about it, but he'd told Puma- _promised_ the Prince that he'd be sitting ringside for his match against Cage The Machine. He'd made sure to wear inconspicuous civvies and a baseball cap so no one in the audience would be the wiser. Unless it'd become necessary, of course. He had no intention of stepping in unless Cage pulled something along the lines of what he'd done the last time. He'd nearly- Puma'd been in bad shape after that ordeal.

The only good thing to come of it, was that Johnny and he had spent more time around each other the following few days. Johnny helping Puma reach things in the top of his locker when it looked like the stretch would be painful, and Puma showing him some wicked places to cat nap. He never knew there could be so many, relatively clean crawl spaces hidden around a temple. Especially not ones he could squeeze himself into.

A mental picture from the day before hit him almost as hard as he'd been hitting that stupid bullet proof window: His friend, Puma, looking at him, worry written clearly in those big eyes of his.  
Worry over his upcoming match against the fighter who'd nearly sent him to the hospital utilizing illegally cheap tactics.  
Puma hadn't said much about it since the day, but Johnny could tell there was more than just hate and determination in the look his buddy gave whenever he was within earshot when someone mentioned the name Cage.

The conversation kept repeating in his head, all through hour three:

"Hey, Puma," Johnny greeted, walking into the training room, where he knew the champ would be, preparing for tomorrow's main event.

_"Hi, J,"_ Puma signed, having worked out a shorthand or nickname for informal situations, like now.

"Psyched for the fight?" He got a strong nod in answer, but in that moment he became certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Puma was frightened.  
They both knew that if Puma didn't win this fight... knowing Cueto's sadistic love of violence, he'd definitely be matched against Cage again. Regardless as to wins or losses though: Dario'd want to see them in an official Title Bout as soon as possible.  
The prospect of multiple solo matches in a row against a mountain- a _machine_ like Cage? Johnny wouldn't be surprised if Puma'd been having nightmares. That is, if he'd been sleeping to begin with. He _was_ looking a bit drawn...

Johnny couldn't let this go on any longer. He'd wanted to put a stopper in it days earlier, but there are some places you really shouldn't stick your nose and it can get hard to tell exactly where those places are.  
"Tell ya what: I'll be there," strong opening! Got his attention right quick. "I'll be sitting ringside. Promise."  
Puma's face lit up and all traces of anger and fear bled out of his stance, primed near the heavy bag he'd been staring at when Johnny walked up.  
"I'll have a front row seat so when you kick that gigantor's teeth out, I can pick them off the floor and make 'em into a necklace! He won't know what hit him."

Puma, looking conflicted for all of two seconds, pulled himself around to face Johnny fully and went in for a submission hold.  
Or, wait. That was a _hug_. Oh my G- Johnny's higher thought processes clicked off and were replaced with several heavy rock and roll songs, playing all synced up at discordant, high volumes. All trying to block out the overwhelming rush of emotions and physical sensations that that seemingly simple gesture had caused in him.  
No one had hugged Johnny Mundo, agenda free, in... years perhaps. **Years**... If he didn't count that awkward family reunion.

Whatever the lapsed time, it'd been long enough ago that Johnny didn't remember the proper response.  
Cut and run? Ole switcheroo? Chair to the spine? Grab a hanky and sob?  
Nope, none of those. But, after a moment of stillness, instinct took over and he found himself relaxing into a pair of strong Puma arms.  
Johnny's arms inched their way up from their akimbo pose on his own hips, and returned the gesture in kind. With just as much fondness, and a dash more tenderness. He couldn't help still feeling wary about the faded bruises all along Puma's back, and he'd kick himself if he gave his friend a valid reason to pull away and never hug him again. It was... too nice a thing to spoil.

It didn't last long, but it was sweet and neither of them were quite sure why it'd happened, so they shuffled their feet and admired the gym equipment for a moment or two before looking each other in the eye again.  
When they plucked up the courage and met gazes, they were both happy to see that nothing had changed. They looked at one another with the same closeness and camaraderie as had grown to be expected.

"Uh... Juice break?" Was the first thing that made any sense that came to Johnny Mundo's mind.

Puma made a face and stuck out his tongue in a show of distaste.

"Fine. Milk break?" Being met with a pleased, _"I have taught you well,"_ kinda expression, he grinned and bowed, indicating the direction leading to the cantina. "After you, my Prince."

Puma reached out and ruffled Johnny's hair, since Johnny hated having his hair mussed, then grabbed an arm and pulled Mundo after him toward their tasty, respective choices of drink.

 

Johnny shook his head and looked around the now _dark_ bowels of the man made beast that'd swallowed him and given him no chance for escape. He was sure- pretty sure- No.  
He was _certain_ that Puma's match was starting or had already started... Without him. He was also pretty sure that someone else had taken his seat(because who wouldn't jump at an open front row seat?), which might make it a little less obvious that he wasn't there, but still...  
He'd let Puma down.

The sudden reflected flashing of blue and red lights yanked him from his quandary. The po-po! Eh, the _police_! Friend or foe? He figured he better appear as non threatening as his six foot plus, bodybuilder frame would allow, and speak his peace that way as well.

He could barely hear two car doors shut and voices, muffled through several inches of reinforced armor plating, approaching. It probably was smartest to situate himself smack dab in the middle of the hold, and maybe he should let them know he was back here.  
Come to think of it, they might not even check the cargo unless he made some noise!

"Help! I'm locked in the back!" He heard loudest, his own trapped voice reverberating around in the small echo chamber, then quieter, the sound of... laughter?  
Were police officers **laughing** at his misfortu- well... He supposed it must've been pretty funny from an outside perspective.  
Too bad Johnny wasn't _outside_ to enjoy it.

Someone knocked on the outside of the triple locked door. Johnny's heart skipped a beat, even though he'd been expecting something like that. 

"You're stuck in here?"

"Yes! For hours!!"

"Alright. Hold on. We're calling the security company for instructions."

"Thank you!" You, you... ou... u... The reverb was awesome in there. How had he not noticed until now? One of the great mysteries of life.  
A mystery, such as: How was Prince Puma faring in his first official fight against the Machine called Cage? 

 

Johnny counted himself among the lucky when it turned out officers Peterson and Santana weren't looking to collar a criminal this evening. Just looking for a "missing" armored truck who's lo-jack had finally stopped throwing fits and turned itself on for the company who was wanting it back, "In good condition, please."

Seemingly competent people, the officers managed to open all three locks in a timely manner and without need for a blow torch and the jaws of life. Mundo only got a little scuffed up when they shoved him against the alley wall to frisk him. When he put up no resistance and turned out to _actually_ not have any hidden weapons or drugs on him though, they put down they're reservations and listened, quite entertained, to how he'd gotten himself triple locked inside a security vehicle which only locked and unlocked from the outside.  
They started believing him when Santana shone a flashlight inside the bullet proof hold and illuminated a black sack, just like the one in the suspect's unlikely story. Besides, "That thing's way too small to steal much of anything with!" 

"Brother, you're either the worst thief ever, or one unlucky sonnofa."

"I don't know, Peterson. If he's that bad, how'd he steal the truck in the first place?"

"Maybe it was a mistake of opportunity? Just saw it sitting there, open and unguarded."

"Then how'd he get locked in?"

"Pft! The wind did it!"

"Yeah," Santana looked over at Johnny's pinched face and spoke the first reassuring words the Luchador had heard in hours, "I think it's a lot more likely he's telling the truth." He turned back to his partner and added, "Besides, my kids've told me all about Johnny Mundo and Lucha Underground. Why Paco lets them watch that kind of TV I'll never understand," he lamented, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"I warned you it'd be like that if you married a wrestling fan. They put the love of the sport in the minds of the _youth_ first, then it's on to the adults," Peterson nodded to himself, proud of his prescient wisdom.

"Well, it's helping out _this_ guy tonight, so it's not all bad. They're really cute in their little Lion Lucha masks too. Great family album material."

"They're Prince Puma fans?" Asked an incredulous Johnny Mundo.

"Yeah, that's the name! It's hard to keep them off the backs of the furniture though..." Santana scratched the back of his head and handed the Luchador and state issued IDs over to Peterson, who scrutinized them while shining Johnny with a flashlight. In the face.

"Yep, I believe him now. Lemme run this through the database real quick and let the security techs know that the van's in one piece."

"Roger," said Santana, nodding at Peterson, then turning to Johnny Mundo. "So, a little birdie told me that there's a 'famous _friendship_ ' going on in the... Lucha Temple. Care to comment? Off the record." Was that a twinkle in his eye? Or were his eyes just naturally jolly?

Regardless as to alleged twinkling, the cop seemed genuinely interested. Almost invested. Weird. And- hey, wait a second! He'd emphasized that sentence in an intentional way! What was he getting at?

"Officer?" Johnny queried, totally not distracted by the crackle and pop shrillness of Officer Peterson talking to people over the car radio.

"Well, this little birdie told me that world renowned Luchador Johnny Mundo and World Champion Prince Puma have had an on again off again friendship, against the odds, and against others' advice, for some time now."

Johnny, hoping the worry wasn't roiling off of him, wasn't up to giving a press worthy smile nor answer.  
Every minute spent explaining himself to the cops was another minute keeping him from getting to that fight, and being there for his friend. He couldn't stand the thought that the difference between Puma smiling, raising a fist high in proud victory, and a Puma bloodied and beaten, could be as simple as him sitting ringside, keeping a watchful eye.  
Seeing Puma, unconscious, slow that night to regain his fine motor controls, and then in pain for days had not been fun. Not in _any_ way. Johnny desperately wanted there not to be a repeat.

"Um, yeah. We're friends, and," he hesitated a moment. Not sure whether this was the kind of thing an officer of the law was supposed to care about. "I really need to get to the Temple, as soon as possible..." 

"Oh, that's right! My kids mentioned something about there being a big fight for Prince Puma tonight," then, under his breath, "Man, Paco's not gonna believe this one." He turned to check on his partner who was still making with the police business over by the car. Sort of half in half out by then.  
"We're almost done here. Just gonna need an official statement, signed by you, aaand..." He met Peterson's eyes through the windshield of the squad car -a relative feet, considering how darkly tinted it was and how long ago the sun had called it a night-, and got a nod for his troubles. "You'll be free to go."

Johnny felt relief ripple through him, nearly bucking the worry which was slowly boiling itself over into dread. The biggest lump of which, sitting like a stone somewhere between his heart and his gut.

Alright officer, what do you need from me?"

"Well, you promise not to skip town?"

"I have a contract to stay on at the Temple for-"

"Alright. You will keep yourself available for further questioning if such becomes necessary?"

"Yes."

"Well then, long as you sign that you agree to those, and several other, terms; you'll be home free. I'll bet you don't wanna miss that match tonight, huh? The Machine versus Prince Puma." Santana scratched his head with the pen he'd been using to fill in something on the pad he'd whipped out not long before, no doubt in response to Johnny's grim tone.  
"You thinking the champ might..."

Johnny was surprised by the delicate delivery of that question. And the trail off, which he gave plenty of time to get itself filled in.  
With a similar level of delicateness, he answered. "I promised I'd be there."

He must have imbued the statement with a nice helping of emotion, because he noticed, in the partial light the headlights afforded, Santana take on a slight sunburn. Right around the apple of his cheeks and down the sides of his neck.

"Sounds like you need to be there, alright. And a friendship like the one I'm sensing between you and your Luchador is special. Adversity has a way of bringing people closer, as long as they're there for each other." He flipped his notepad over so Johnny could see the words printed and scrawled all across it. The words which spelled freedom. Not literally though. There were a lot of legal words on that chit.  
Took a bit to read the whole thing, and once he had, he thrust out a hand for the pen.

"I don't know about that, Officer. But I _do_ know that I'm late, for a very important date." With destiny.

Peterson cleared his throat from much closer by than expected, almost making Johnny jump. When they turned to the newly unbusy officer, he looked uneasy or perhaps somewhat unnerved. Almost the look one might have if they'd just overheard an intimate conversation and had no way to _unhear_ it. 

"Well Mr. Mundo, I wish you luck in all your endeavors. Your," his face made a little bit of a face, as if he couldn't wrap his head around the wording of the rest of his sentence, "friend sounds important to you. I hope you arrive in time for the match."

Johnny gave a nod, his lips set in a line. Knowing, just by how long it felt like he'd been stuck in that horrible van, it's gaping maw still taunting him in the brightness of squad car hi beams, and the time requisite to square things up with the responding officers, that Puma's match was over. That, or it was going long. Regardless; he'd still arrive after it was done and he'd have absolutely no chance to be useful. Not even as a friendly face in the crowd.  
The line of his mouth grew taughter and he felt a warmth to his eyes which he hadn't been expecting.

"We'd love to offer you a ride, except that this missing van needs a security detail until the company comes and collects it," Peterson sounded more perturbed than ever. Maybe he thought Mundo was gonna cry?

"Naw," Johnny shook his head. "Thanks, but sometimes traffic..." He made a vague gesture towards the clear, vehicle free street outside the alley. "Sometimes you get there faster on foot," and he capped it off with as much of his award winning smile as he could muster. Almost even flashed his pearly whites.  
He wasn't lying though. It was sometimes considerably faster on foot. This particular street just didn't get all that much traffic these hours, no matter the day. 

"Alright then. You stay safe, and wish the champ luck from us too," said Santana, with Peterson nodding along and handing Johnny back his IDs.  
Then Santana leaned in toward his partner and said, under his breath, "Paco's never gonna believe _this_."

Peterson chuckled. 

They both waved as Johnny started off for work for the second time in one day. Him settling in for a run and them settling in for a wait.

"Cute." Mundo thought he heard as he slipped around the corner, out onto the open sidewalk and into the open air.  
He needed to warm up all over again. 

If he ever found that sick... termite what threw him in the back of that- Probably shouldn't dwell on far flung wishes. Keep your head in the game; left, right, left, right, left, right, left~ The Temple wasn't that far, if he pushed the pace...

He paused just long enough to bring his heart down a good 20 bpms while he sipped from a fountain in the middle of a park he usually cut through on his way.  
After the well deserved rehydration -being stuck for hours in a van from which you very much wished to escape gave you a powerful thirst, it turned out-, it was a straight shot, almost, to the Temple.  
When he came within a long LA block of the place, he got a good look at what appeared to be the entire audience filing out and loading themselves into cars and waiting busses. It must have been even later than he'd thought. Dang it! He _needed_ to know how things had played out, and in this situation, a quick reconnaissance seemed the most expedient route. 

At this point, it really mattered zero percent whether anyone recognized him, but he was already dressed the part, so why not play it? He figured he oughtn't let the work go to waste.  
And, come to think of it, someone might want an autograph if they recognized him. Incognito was safer.

He jogged up to a small group who were chatting amongst themselves by a minivan. He waved in good natured greeting to get their attentions, and came to a stop a polite distance from them.

"Hey. Did I miss the whole thing?" They nodded in synchronicity. "Even the main event? Darn public transportation!" He slapped his thigh in a show of disappointment. In reality, he'd already known it was over. Why else would _everyone_ be leaving? When there wasn't obviously a fire.  
"I really wanted to catch that bout. Who won? Prince Puma?" He asked, trying for disappointed excitement.

"Yeah, Prince Puma won," spoke up a cute, button nosed child of kindergarten-ish age, "but he's belt got busted... By the Cage-Man-Machine." The barely-not-toddler looked up at who must have been an older sibling, bottom lip quivering, and beseeched, "He looked real sad, didn' he, Jessica?" 

Jessica nodded, rubbing a forearm across her nose and looking overall... kinda sad. "Yup. I cried a little."

"An' he's daddy got hurt too! He couldn't stand up!"

"Shh, mija. It's ok. Todo es bueno. Prince Puma and Konnan are gonna be fine. Then they'll come back and kick Cage's butt. You'll see!" Said the one who must've been a parent. Considering they called her their daughter. 

"But he looked so sad! An' the anbulance took them awaaaay!" And then the wailing started.  
The family gave Johnny their sympathies for missing the show, wished him luck in arriving on time for the next one, and bundled themselves and the bereft not-baby into the trusty mini.  
They waved and tooted the horn as they drove out of the busy parking lot.

He **needed** to know how things had played out. Maybe he could track down Striker or Vampiro? Neither of them had any reason to not tell him exactly what had happened. Although, Vampiro didn't seem to like him, so Striker was a better bet.

As bad as the little kid had made it sound, he still never would have guessed what'd gone down. His imagination wasn't too shabby, but sometimes; reality has a way of being worse than one expects.

 

Where _was_ Johnny, indeed. 

 

Puma scanned the crowd, up to five rows from the front. Turning himself on his knees to search every corner of the underlit Temple, clutching the two halves of his Championship belt tight as he could, barely noticing Konnan having the blood mopped off his face by medic's on the other side of the ring.  
The booing also sort of just rolled off his shaky consciousness. It wasn't directed at him nor his trainer anyway.

His eyes began re-searching the darker parts of the crowd, where it was harder to make out faces. By the time he'd started looking up to the mezzanine level, he was already sure-No. He'd _been_ sure from the time the end bell had been rung. He just didn't want to- _couldn't_ admit to himself that his -should he call him this?- friend... wasn't there.

Puma felt someone stomping over the mat towards him, but seeing as it was crawling with medical personnel and officiators, it was just a matter of time really. He let that too sorta bounce of his faulty receptors, and closed his eyes against the disappointments that had been this fight... and his friend.

A hand the size of a small dog grabbed him by the face. With his eyes closed he'd had no warning and no chance to guard against it.  
Puma felt it squeeze, feeling like the person attached to it was behind him, then it yanked back and down. His head hit the mat and was prevented from bouncing by the same hand pressing down **hard**. 

Before he could collect his wits enough to fight back, he felt a boot come down on his throat. It dug in painfully as the hand left his face to swipe at the Championship belt. Well, half of it anyway.

Puma dug into a surge of reserve power he didn't know he had and brought a wild knee up, hard as he could. It connected with something that felt like an impossibly hard pectoral, or maybe a flexed bicep, and rocked the attacker enough to shift their balance just a hair. Unfortunately, it shifted _onto_ the leg connected to the foot which was now well on its way to crushing his windpipe.  
He tried for another wild knee, which was summarily blocked, and received a fist to the solar plexus in recompense. 

The hard shot coupled with the inability to **breathe** caused his body to lose all fight right quick. And so the Championship belt passed from his weakened grip into that of the Machine known as Cage's.

"Thanks for this. It'll be mine soon, anyway." 

Puma realized that more than one ref was shouting at Cage to, "Get off of him, the fight is over!", he's pretty sure Senior Official Marty Elias even tried to shove him off, but it was hard to tell through the tears welling in his eyes. And the grainy blue creeping in from the corners of his vision.

" _I'm_ winning next time, Cub," said Cage, lifting his boot with a slow deliberation which drove the refs crazy. Puma was just glad to find his windpipe still functional, pulling a hacking breath and rolling to his side as soon as he was free.

_The belt!_

Puma dragged his head off the mat, blinking away tears that were now soaking into his mask, and got his bearings in time to witness Cage slinging the two halves of **his** Championship belt over his neck and swaggering off the ring.  
All after he'd spit on it too.

Puma realized that not all of his tears were an involuntary reaction to the physical abuse. His throat felt tight and raw for more than just the most obvious reason. 

"Puma!" He whipped around, quick as he could after that beating, and locked eyes with an EMT he hadn't even thought to look for this evening. "Are you- Can you breath alright?" Gabby appeared distraught.

Puma brought a hand up to explore his throat, ginger fingers finding unhappy skin and muscles. He nodded so as not to freak out his attending medic. She was sort of his friend, after all.

"Good. How many fingers am I holdi- Good," she said with obvious relief, in response to him holding up the same number. "You seem okay."  
She glanced behind herself, then stepped closer and squatted beside the Prince. "We're giving Konnan a lift to el hospital. Wanna ride along? We know he's your trainer and all."

Puma nodded and accepted the hand Gabby offered to help him to his feet. Or close to them. His middle was aching big time from the unprotected punch he'd taken little more than moments ago.

He dropped to one knee when they got close to his mentor, seeing as how they were still trying to stop the bleeding and didn't look like they planned on leaving until they did.  
Konnan, who was kind of out of it, kept staring off into the middle distance.

The other two medics looked up and couldn't decide whether to smile or grimace in greeting. Puma felt the same.

Since Clara and Federico had Konnan covered, Gabby started examining the worst bruises visible on Puma's bare upper body and handed him a fresh cracked ice pack for his stomach.

As soon as the bleeding slowed, Konnan was set on a wheeled stretcher by the side of the ring, and the medical entourage, plus Prince Puma, secured safe passage out of the Temple and into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Federico showed Puma where to sit while Clara and Gabby secured Konnan and the stretcher.  
He clipped a seat belt in place around their non emergency rider and was surprised out of his professionalism when one of his gloves came away wet.  
At a double take, he recognized the wetness as a drop of... saline? Oh! A tear!

"Hey, hey, Puma? Champ. What's wrong?" Federico was worried less as a physician and more as an acquaintance/almost friend, but he still gave the Luchador a visual once over. To be on the safe side, he made eye contact with Gabby, who indicated that nothing had showed up earlier.  
At Puma's head shake, Federico grasped at the first thought to flit through his rather flustered mind. "Where's The Fighter? Eh, Johnny- where's Johnny? He can ride with us too."

"Yeah, where _is_ the Tall Man?" Asked Clara, with what seemed like more than the usual level of tact.

Puma's hands shook as he looked the three of them in the eyes and signed, _"Not. Here."_

Even though Clara and Gabby weren't sure what those signs meant, they got the message from his eyes and body language before Federico translated.

"Oh, hermanito! Deme un abrazo." Gabby gave him a hug, which miraculously didn't hurt. Puma figured she must have magic EMT powers, especially to pull off the maneuver with him buckled to a wall.

"You want me to... no, that's not legal. I can yell at him for ya?" Clara offered, busting open a pack of gauze and handing the wad to him.  
Puma took it with a questioning look, so the one who'd passed it over indicated his eyes. He looked rather aghast at the suggestion, but dabbed at his face anyway.  
Then shook his head, declining Clara's generous offer.

"Well," it looked to Federico as if everything was in the hands best suited to the jobs, so he climbed up into the drivers seat, "we're off folks. Next stop: El hospital."

With that, they were off.  
Because they'd beaten the crowds of faithful out of the Temple, their was no need for lights nor sirens, and so their departure went unheralded. 

The short ride to the hospital was uneventful and inauspicious. 

 

The ambulance pulled up to the "slightly less than emergency" entrance at the same time that Johnny walked through the Temple's back entrance, flashing his Luchador ID to gain admittance. After that, it took him a minute, two tops, to track down exactly who he'd wanted to see.

"Cage went berserk. No one could've stopped him; Marty nearly got smashed stepping in. It was a real mess," Striker sighed, then took another draft from his water bottle. "Vamp and I were just glad they turned off the cameras before..."

"Before?" Johnny wasn't interested in ominous obfuscations after such a long evening.

"Uh, yeah." Matt rubbed the water bottle between his hands hard enough that it made a pathetic crinkling sound. That bad huh? "Before Cage came back and, uh, _took_ the Championship belt. From Puma. After stepping on him. In the throat."  
He was rambling, but Johnny'd low key implied that something bad might happen if he didn't spill on the details and now, if you please. More with his face than his words though. He liked Matt, and besides the mutual respect they had for each other; They both knew that Matt wasn't called "Striker" for nothing.

Johnny shook himself from the mental images of what it sounded like had happened. He then thanked Matt and, knowing Cage had already done the same, made for the door and started on home. 

He jogged the whole way, knowing on instinct that he was far too distracted for any parkour to be a good idea. Besides: it'd been dark for some time now.

When he passed the alley in which he'd spent some quality alone time earlier, he saw the officers were gone and the security vehicle was either collected by the company(most likely), or stolen again(far less likely).

He was thankful no one was waiting for him this time. Being bushwhacked was no fun. Neither were bushwhackers. Stay in school kids.  
And don't become bushwhackers.

Safely back in his apartment, Johnny spent a while in the shower, counting his lucky stars that he had been found by the authorities when he had. Spending the night in that death trap would have been tantamount to torture. Especially considering he'd really needed to use the restroom when he got home.  
He'd also enjoyed having access to food. And his toothbrush.

He'd have to thank Matt Striker again, next time he saw him. Because, the prospect of not knowing what had happened from someone who'd seen it themselves, made those other things seem almost... trivial. Still tortuous! But also definitely trivial.  
Suffering of the soul being everlasting while suffering of the flesh is finite? Something like that.

Anyway, his fleshly suffering over and done with, he laid himself down for a nice, relaxing, not getting up before noon, kind of sleep. Yep. He closed his eyes with no intention of opening them for anything, until the sun shone in his window and threatened to burn them off if he didn't.  
Yep. Sleep of the dead coming up people. Like a log. A six foot something, two hundred pound- that's actually really light for a log that size-, disappointment of a log.  
Wait. What?

Mmhm. Johnny was a disappointment. No matter whether judged as a log or a fri- an _absent_ friend.  
Because he and his restless subconscious both knew that if he'd only _been_ there, things would have turned out differently.  
The worst of his "stuck in an armored van" imaginings had been close to what had actually gone down, and that rather frightened him.

He knew, and he knew that Puma knew, that with unchecked violence like that displayed in and around that bout this evening: Dario Cueto would have an absolute **need** to match Prince Puma and the Machine known as Cage again. As soon as possible.  
The guy was weird like that.

Johnny Mundo gave sleep one more try, but even when he kicked his subconscious in the teeth and put it in a submission hold, it wouldn't shut up. Although, it did start whimpering and calling uncle.  
Johnny wasn't quite sure who this "uncle" was, considering neither of them _liked_ any of their potentially uncle like paternal figures.  
He knew this because his subconscious hadn't shut up for days after the last family reunion about how Johnny, "better not mature into someone like them!" 

Okay! This was getting weird!

And so, Johnny admitted defeat and rolled out of bed. Deciding that logging onto "the Internet" and asking it, "what to do when someone steals your phone," would be a much better way to ignore the real problems here than laying in bed and counting the sound of cars passing the apartment.  
That wasn't much fun anyway.

If only he knew how things had gone with Puma and Konnan. After all; a hospital visit is usually serious business in this line of work.

 

Puma sat huddled in a low stool, in a corner, so as not to disturb the on call who was stitching his trainer's forehead.  
He kept one eye on Konnan, to make sure he was okay, and the other he let stare at the floor in a rather dejected fashion. He didn't even worry about the serious case of lazy eye he might end up giving himself. He didn't _feel_ like caring.

The dynamic EMT trio had done as much as they could, without pushing harder than they felt was warranted at this stage in their professional slash friendly relationship with the Luchador, to raise Puma's spirits, to little avail. 

"At least he stopped crying," Puma heard Clara say, as they went their separate ways for the night. They _were_ off the clock, after all, and Puma wasn't about to leave Konnan alone.

"Hey, Puma, baby?" Puma's attention snapped to Konnan at the first words his trainer had spoken since the Championship belt had been removed from the ring. He vaguely noticed the attending's pleased expression at the patient finally showing some real presence of mind. But mostly Puma just nodded at Konnan.  
"You can come back from this just fine. We'll train you with Cage in mind, specifically." Konnan took a second to look at the person who was putting fine gauge stitches in his head. Then he refocused on his Luchador.  
"I don't mean to rub it in, but I been tellin' you for months: You can't trust nobody in this business. Not Cage, not your opponent, and not Johnny Mundo." Puma's eyes went wide as Konnan hit every nail on the head.  
"I know you were expecting your friend to be there, to cheer you on an' all, but like Vamp and I been sayin' since day one at the Temple: Johnny Mundo's always been in it for número uno. He's not gonna change that for nobody."

The attending caught Konnan's attention long enough to explain to someone who obviously already knew all about it, how to care for their wound in the following days, and get a curt nod in answer to the question, "Are you feeling alright, Sir?" Got another from Konnan indicating that, yes; he was just gonna recline there like he was supposed to for the next while then, satisfied nothing deadly was gonna take place, the attending finished up and went to get started on the next not quite emergency.

The attendant gone and a nice bandage covering his shiny new stitches, Konnan settled some and looked to the corner and his curled up pupil.  
He hadn't been expecting the sight of Prince Puma, the successful Lucha Underground Defending Champion, dabbing at his own eyes with a soggy wad of medical gauze. Swiping at his nose with a look of utter defeat showing through the mask as plain as day.  
Maybe he shouldn't have brought up Mundo? Naw, the kid needed to learn this lesson early. Before something _really_ bad could happen to him because of his open, trusting ways.

"Ay, chico. What am I gonna do with you?" He said, shaking his head. "Come 'ere." He patted the space right next to him on the funky hospital bed.

Puma looked at Konnan in confusion for a full five seconds, before he dragged his battered body off the stool and shambled over to the bed.

"C'mon, get up here," Konnan patted the space again.  
Puma glanced out the door, at the empty hallway beyond, and gritted his teeth. Live while you're young!  
"That's it, I got you." Konnan kept a hand on Puma's near shoulder, so the shaky Luchador couldn't possibly trip himself up and land on the floor instead.  
Once Puma was seated on the bed, Konnan drew the one he considered a kid into his arms and hugged him. 

Puma figured Konnan must have had magical trainer powers, because the hug caused his body no pain. At the same time, it pushed his psyche over the ledge it had been perched and teetering over for the last... it felt like too long. He hugged the veteran back and tried to hold in the oncoming sobs.  
Tears crawled over and out from under Puma's mask and dripped into the older man's shirt. The ones that the mask didn't soak up at least.

"Let it out, it's good to not hold back. Not in the ring and not out of it. Órale." It was some of the softest Puma had heard his trainer speak, and it made his breath hitch on the way in. He tightened his hold around the man with the shiny new stitches as much as he dared, and he held on like it was his best bet to see the rise of a new day.

Konnan, unafraid of a little salt water nor so fond of his shirt to begrudge it's shoulder a potential light coating of snot, let the champ express his frustrations and disappointments in the healthiest way available to them this night.  
Embarrassment wasn't a high priority concern for either of them. Still, they weren't likely to be disturbed, considering Puma was nearly silent in his mourning.  
What _exactly_ was being mourned, Konnan wasn't sure. But having been in the business and around fighters, and indeed having been one himself, he had a pretty good idea as to what it _could_ be.  
He also had a pretty good idea as to just how much more contempt he should feel for Cage after this grand spectacle of devastation.  
Come to think of it, if he came face to face with Johnny Mundo in the coming weeks, he'd probably have some new contempt to show him as well.

As Puma's breathing began to even out and his arms began to slack, Konnan shimmied a pillow up behind the Luchador's shoulders and masked head. Puma was out of it enough that he didn't notice and within minutes, his tear reserves had dried up and he was deep asleep.

"Como un bebe; out for the count." Since he'd been told to stay put, Konnan disentangled his arms entirely and relaxed into his own pillowless chunk of bed. Not begrudging the champ the additional comfort after the match and post match and post post match he'd been through.  
Besides, Konnan had had to go without a pillow for worse reasons more times than he cared to count. At least now, he knew it was a worthy cause.  
Yep. It was definitely worth that look of unperturbed rest on his protege's- on Prince Pumas's face.  
He hoped, while searching his pupil's expression, and with a dark feeling in his chest, that Cage was having an exponentially worse night than he was. 

 

Though not perhaps accurate, Konnan's hope wasn't quite off the mark either.

Cage had cursed his rotten luck all the way home, his loss in the ring all but forgotten over the hefty parking ticket he'd incurred outside the Temple. Almost.  
Next time he'd have to get someone to put coins in the antiquated meter _for_ him until six post meridian. If that was the cut off anyway. Stupid enforced parking!

The next morning, he woke with the mother of all neck aches as well as a plethora of small bruises. Both directly or indirectly, compliments of the puny Puma.  
Who knew sleeping with a stolen Championship belt under your pillow could mess you up that bad? Ouch.

 

Over in the non Cage neck of the woods, Johnny woke with his face stuck to his dining table and his poor laptop drained of power. At least he knew how to keep the same phone number now.  
Johnny Mundo, thank you Yahoo! question and answer boards, had a new "internet phone" and the same phone number, all by noon.  
Feeling as if it was the least he could do, he grabbed enough take out lunch for two and made his way, hampered by the bag of food, to the Temple. 

He didn't see Puma in the gym that day. Nor in the cantina, nor anywhere in the Temple.  
He ate the extra lunch for dinner instead and hoped Puma wasn't stuck in the hospital along with Konnan.  
He hoped he'd get the chance to explain and to apologize to Puma before his conscience began to eat _him_ for lunch.

He really didn't want to lose that friendship on account of that stupid metal death trap.

Too bad Puma didn't know any of that.

**Author's Note:**

> So, was it angsty? Was it a fun read? If ya feel like lettin' me know, or even just wanna say how much you love Lucha Underground, you are exceedingly welcome to comment below!  
> Hope ya'll enjoyed the fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> ~Anonymous


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